But the fear and the fire and the guns remain
by HollyBush
Summary: Set after 3.05 Bedtime Stories. Sam is determined to save Dean. And Dean is determined not to be saved.
1. Chapter 1

**But the fear, the fire and the guns remain. 1**

Author's note: I hope you had a wonderful Christmas and that you have not yet abandoned whatever newyear's resolutions you may have. (I don't do new year's resolutions myself, I really believe they are meant to be abandoned, but maybe I'm just looking for an excuse to start smoking again...)

My second multichap. This one is short and finished and will, therefore, be updated regularly. This chapter is not beta'd because I want to see if you guys think it's worth it. That, and it's 2 am and I am bonetired and really wanted to post this.

This takes place after 3.05 'Bedtime Stories'.

* * *

_He built a wall of steel and flame. _

_And men with guns, to keep it tame._

_Then, standing back, he made it plain._

_That the nightmare would never rise again._

_But the fear and the fire and the guns remain._

_(Josh Groban with Ladysmith Black Mambazo and Vusi Mahlasela – Weeping.)_

**Chapter 1. **

_Sam's eyes were focused on the man before him, averted his brother's as he spoke. _

"_I couldn't imagine anything worse." _

_He knew the look in Sam's eyes, though, without having to look at him. He turned away from him and stared at the road that stretched endlessly ahead as Sam sat next to him, long legs cramped up, his body too tall and lanky for the passengerseat. _

_"We have the colt now. We can summon the crossroadsdemon."_

_Those familiar brown eyes held that familiar pained look as he let out some of the anger Dean knew he was feeling._

"_And if we don't mess with it, you die!"_

_He turned to focus on the road again but it had disappeared and in its place were trees and bushes, the Impala, his only home, right next to him, his little brother, his sole purpose, in front of him._

"_Did you sell your soul for me, like dad did for you?"_

With a scream that was, right then, on the verge of breaking into a sob, Dean sat up in bed. One arm halfway out into the open space, the other clenched tightly around his stomach. The greying old shirt that he had long ago deemed fit for sleepwear was moist with the sweat that also beaded on his forehead. He took a frustrated breath and threw his legs over the side of the bed. He made his way to the bathroom, trying to be as quiet as possible and leaned heavily on the sink with one arm as he splashed his face with water.

What the fuck was going on? This was the fourth night this week that he'd woken up midnightmare, Sam's face haunting him as he forced himself to calm down. Where did these dreams come from? He hadn't lied to Sam back in Nebraska. He was fine. he felt good. For the first time in a very long time, everything was fine. He had one year left and he fully intended to make the most of it. Kick a little ass, raise a little hell. So why the fuck was he having these nightmares?

He silently found his way back to his bed, still careful not to wake Sam. seeing his brother asleep was one the only good thing about this crappy night. His brother had been quite the insomniac ever since he'd joined him on the road and that hadn't exactly improved over the past years. Now, with Dean's deal so fresh and painful on his mind, he probably wasn't getting a wink of sleep at all. He was awake during the day and though whenever Dean had woken up, he had appeared to be asleep, Sam was starting to look worse and worse with each passing day. Dean straightened his covers and laid back down. He needed some sleep, dammit. How was he supposed to kick ass and raise hell on those demonbitches they'd let out if he was waking up from freaking nightmares every night?

He looked over at his little brother again. Sam lay with his face turned away from him, his chest rising and falling slowly with each breath. He really did seem to be asleep. But Sam was known for pretending to be asleep when he wasn't. He did it when he was mad at Dean and felt the need to ignore him, he did it when he was tired of Dean's endless babbling sometimes, he did it when he wasn't ready to share what was bothering him and, most of all, he did it whenever he was tired of hurt and didn't want Dean to worry.

"Sammy?"

There was no answer and Sam's breathing didn't change. Maybe he really was asleep. Dean certainly hoped so. He knew Sam was already on his last straw and the last thing he wanted was his brother to fall to the floor in the middle of the night for lack of sleep. Sam had had enough on his plate in the last couple of years. He didn't need any crap right now. Or, you know, any more than they already had.

Dean had to admit that things weren't going as smoothly as he had hoped when they had driven away from Wyoming and the damn door to hell. He'd sat in the passengerseat of the car that night as they drove towards Bobby's place, feeling better, more satisfied, than he'd done in years. The demon was dead, his father was out of hell, his brother was alive. Life was good. Short, but good. He'd thought Sam would need a bit of time to come to terms with the situation but he'd figured his little brother would learn to accept the situation. He didn't expect him to just give up on him and let him die, no problem, Sam was his brother after all and he had said he would save him, no matter what. But he hadn't actually believed that Sam would take that last part so literally. The kid wouldn't stop. Wouldn't give up. He was on that laptop every moment he could, on the phone with shit-knows-who the other time. He'd thought that Sam would eventually see that there was no solution and that accepting the way things were, was the best option.

Now, they were almost 3 months into the year and, if anything, Sam had gotten more determined. He wasn't accepting the situation, he wasn't coming to terms, he was slowly, but surely, getting obsessed.

Dean had seen up close and too personal what obsession could to a man, to his loved ones and he knew he needed to find a way to get his little brother to see that there was nothing he could do. Nothing he would have to do. That it was okay and that he was gonna be fine. Sam was stronger than him, always had been. He'd be fine.

* * *

Sam listened to his brother and knew that Dean was looking at him. He could feel it, always had. How many times had he listened to Dean pad in and out of bed and to and from his bed? How many times had he watched Dean look down at him through slidded eyes, wondering what the melancholic look in his big brother's eyes meant? 

He heard Dean say his name and kept his body as still as possible, his breathing as even as he could. He didn't want his brother to know he was awake. He knew how Dean would react to that. He would get frustrated and sigh and try to reassure Sam and get him calm and make everything alright and then he'd promise that nothing bad would happen and that he was fine and that Sam should be fine and no matter what Sam would say in reaction, no matter how much he objected to Dean's every word, he wouldn't listen. He wouldn't listen because he really believed in what he'd tell Sam. He really believed that everything would be fine. But they weren't. Things were so far from fine that Sam couldn't even fully comprehend it. his brother was gonna die in 9 months. Ever since that talk in Nebraska, when Dean had told him that he didn't want to be saved, that he, in fact, would stop Sam himself, he'd taken up the habit of watching his brother sleep. He didn't know why exactly, but since he certainly wasn't able to get to sleep himself he watched his brother in- and exhale and let the hours pass. Hours in which Dean was still alive, was stil breathing. Hours that he would never get back. Hours filled with thoughts, feelings and memories of present and past, of doom and joy, all with only one thing in common: Dean.

He listened carefully and heard his brother sink back into sleep and slowly turned towards the other bed. He had been watching his brother from an uncomfortable seat on one of the chairs by the single window when the nightmare attacked. He watched his brother's brow furrow and his muscles tense. He had leaned forward on his seat and paid close attention to whatever his brother was going through. Having had his fair share of nightmares, he recognized one when he saw it and he knew that if his brother was gonna wake up from this, it wouldn't do any good to have him find Sam on one of the chairs instead of in his bed. He had gone back to bed but kept a watchful eye as Dean started to thrash and mumble and though he couldn't figure out what words escaped his brother's lips, he knew _his_ name to probably be one of them.

He kept still even as his eyes were trained on his brother's face. The furrowed brow hadn't disappeared but at least he wasn't thrashing around anymore. He'd take what he could get.

The morning that followed had the youngest of the brothers behind the laptop as soon as the moon had abandoned position and the older in the shower around the same time. There was no sleeping in, not even at a time like this. Especially not at a time like this.

Sam bit back an angry groan as his internetconnection was once again severed and Dean looked up from his search in his duffelbag. He had just gotten out of the shower and his search for a clean shirt forced him to the conclusion that they needed to do laundry. Bad.

He was about to tell his brother that when that brother made a noise that sounded like irritation and looked up.

"What? You get that Bill Clinton thing again while trying to download your emo-crap music?"

Sam barely glanced at his brother as he tried to connect himself to the web again.

"Yes, Dean. That's exactly what happened. I'm downloading music at 7 in the morning."

Dean pulled up an eyebrow at the impatient tone. It was barely seven in the morning. He was starting already?

"Okaaayyy...Mr Brightside. Whatever. We need to do some laundry, man. Even my dirty clean shirts are starting to talk."

"Fine."

Dean stopped looking for a shirt and raised an eyebrow at sam, irritation clearly written on his face.

"You gonna be like this all day? I'm just asking, you know. Just wanna know what I'm looking forward to."

Sam knew he wasn't being fair. Yeah, he was mad and scared and upset but that didn't mean he had to act like an ass all day. He had decided not to confront his brother about his nightmares yet, so he needed to act as normal as possible. Whatever 'normal' meant these days. He sighed and tried something he hoped looked like a smile, at least from where Dean was standing.

"No. I'm...just tired. I'm fine. Let's go."

* * *

The resolution not to talk to Dean didn't last as long as he'd intended. It was a couple of nights after that last one and other than a stupid poltergeist out in the backwhere of neverland, Missouri, they hadn't done much. He had, however, been witness to a couple more exciting rounds of Dean's nightmares. Every night since that last one had him sitting in a chair by the window, watching Dean writhe and twist and grimace until he was about to wake up, which was when Sam would hurry back into his bed and pretend to be asleep as he listened to his brother go to the bathroom, splash his face with water and come paddling back to bed, only to lie awake. Every night Sam could feel Dean's gaze boring into his back and every night he thought about turning around and ask what the hell was going on, but he never did. He knew Dean would realize he'd been awake for them all and he'd pull back and he wouldn't sleep at all anymore and that was a risk he couldn' t take. 

He understood his brother's fear of losing him, he did. He did understand why Dean had made that deal. He may not like it, he may not want it, but that didn't mean he didn't get it. He knew Dean's sense of selfworth wasn't as strong as his own, he knew Dean thought he had failed his family when Sam died, so he knew why he had gone to see that demon. However, when Dean had told him to listen to that good docter's advice,to let him go, it had taken all his strength, all his resolve, not to squarely punch his brother in the face. Not to lash out in irrefutable, inexplicable anger. Dean didn't have the right to ask that of him. He hadn't let Sam go either. How could he expect Sam to just stand back and watch him being dragged of to hell? How could his big brother expect him to simply accept this deal, to make peace with the fact that his big brother was dying, was gonna lose his soul? For _him_?

He hadn't thought it'd ever come to this. He'd never thought he'd ever be so content and at the same time so incredibly uncomfortable around his brother. Everytime he looked to the side and saw Sam sitting in the passengerseat of the Impala, legs cramped up, staring out of the window, caught up in dark texts or even darker thoughts, he felt the relief he'd felt upon seeing him alive again settle over him again, soothing the frayed edges of his nerves. Every night he woke up gasping, escaping a world of hurt and guilt, and looked at the bed next to his to see his little brother asleep, he felt the fear and guilt slowly ease back into the corners of his mind. Yet, at the same time, he had never been more reluctant to be around Sam, had never been so uncomfortable around him. With every comment Sam made about saving him, about losing him, he was getting more and more anxious. Both to be away from, and to be near him. He was almost, _almost_ starting to feel guilty for what he'd done, for making that deal. He'd thought he was done. He didn't want to die, really, and he didn't want to leave his brother, but he was done and, truth was, part of him felt relieved. Relieved to be rid of the pressure, relieved to be able to rest. Okay, so the rest was up for debate, with him going to hell and all that, but he didn't have to do this anymore. He was done. Sam was alive, he was gonna live the life he wanted to live and he was gonna have kids and grow old and Dean would never have to live without him. Everything was as it should be. So why was this feeling, this feeling that was almost like guilt, creeping over him evertime Sam looked at him? Why was he waking up in the middle of the night with Sam's face front and centre in his mind and his voice ringing in his ears. With everything he'd tried and done for his family, to keep them safe, alive, together, making that deal was the easiest thing he'd ever done. Now, he had to face the fact that in keeping the promise to his dad, he'd broken the one to his brother.

* * *

The door to the motelroom swung open and hit the wall, only to bounce back and slam into Dean, who was carrying several bags of clean laundry and a bag of food. A string of curses escaped his lips and he dropped the bags on his bed to look back at the door, that Sam had just closed with an exasperated look on his face.

"It's hardly the door's fault, Dean. You're just graceless."

Althought the words lacked the complete playfullness their banter usually held, there was a smile behind them and Dean turned back to the bed to unpack with a smile of his own. Still half-pouting, he retorted, desperate to continue this thread of conversation, before he spoke to Sam about what he knew had to be adressed.

"Dude, what are you talking about? I'm made of grace and elegance."

He heard his younger brother snort.

"Yeah. You really are."

Glad to see his brother willing to play along, he shot back a final time.

"And don't you forget it. You should pay attention, Sammy. Observe and take notes. You could learn a thing or two. Somebody's gotta pass on the immortal Winchestergene and since I'm checking out early..."

He unpacked the final bag, by unceremoniously dumping the contents on the bed and grabbed a candybar. Looking towards his brother again, who was still busy folding his laundry and putting it back into his duffel, he realised Sam was no longer smiling. That last comment making him aware, once again, of what his future held. Or didn't hold.

Gathering courage for the talk he knew he had to have with his persistent little brother, he took a swig from the beer he had just grabbed and took a breath.

"You gonna go back to school?"

"What?"

"I was wondering, you know, whether or not you're gonna go back to school once I'm gone. I think you should."

"Dean."

"Yeah, you should..." Dean pondered, as if he hadn't even heard his brother's protest, "Maybe not Stanford, but..."

"Dean! What are you doing?"

"Sam. Look, I'm not anymore happy than you are about it, but we need to have this conversation. Clearly, you're not accepting the situation the way I'd hoped and I think that, you know, we need to have a few things straight before I sign off."

"Dean. I'm not having this conversation."

"Sam..."

"No. You wanna go "gently into that good night", fine, but I'm not helping you."

"Sammy, listen to me. We need to have this talk, okay? _I_ need to have this talk. I need to know you'll be okay. That you'll go back to school and have kids and that you won't mess up my car."

"That's not funny."

"Oh, come on. It's a little funny."

"No, actually, it's not. And I'm not doing this. I said I'd save you, and that's what I'm gonna do. I'm not gonna sit here and discuss funeralarrangements. Not with you."

"Sammy."

He straightened, squared his shoulders and made his way over to where Sam was now sitting down, a dejected and sorrowful look on his face. Why did he have such a sensitive brother? The tears that were currently glazing Sam's eyes were always enough to make _him_ want to cry. He stepped closer to the bed and pulled Sam's head against his stomach, one hand resting on his shoulder, the other at the back of his neck.

"Sam, you'll be okay."

He felt the younger shake his head. He smiled then, almost. A small, melancholy smile. How many times had he stood like this? When Sammy had begun to lose the babyfat and had started to hit puberty and they'd been too old and way too tough for real hugs.

"No, really. You're stronger than me, you know it. You always were. You'll be fine."

He felt Sam stiffen and give a dejected sigh, before pulling his head back slowly.

"If you really believe that, you don't know me as well as I thought you did."

Dean tightened his hold a bit and pulled one of his hands up to his little brothers head, letting it rest on top of Sam's hand, his hand almost fisted in the thick hair, but before he could say another word, Sam pulled back completely, dropping his hand onto the bed as he got up and moved towards the back of the room.

"Sam."

"No."

He watched Sam pull the motelroomdoor open and take a step outside but not the distance nor the wind could stop him hearing Sam's last words before he closed the door behind him.

"If I'm gonna have to do it alone, I might as well start now."

* * *

He sits on the bed and waits for his brother to return from wherever the hell he's run off to and he thinks that when he finally does, there's gonna be some asskicking and a lot of cursing and maybe a little plea at the end to just please, finally, just for a while let things rest a bit. For a split second, he'd thought about going after Sam but he'd pretty much immediately banned that thought because running after his little brother with no idea what to say was not the smartest thing to do when the reason that little brother took off is you. So he sits on the bed, resting against the headboard, staring at the television, which is muted because it's showing reruns of Ally Mcbeal and he really can't handle that on top of everything else. 

When Sam finally does enter the room again, it's past dark and Dean's starving and he thinks about yelling at his brother about that but then he sees the bag that Sam's carrying and then suddenly a burger and fries make their way to his bed and he's both happy to see some food and angry because now he can't yell about being hungry, which means he really can't yell at all and now he's gonna come off as a pathetic ass, demanding to know where his little brother went, because not asking is not an option. Before any words make it out of his mind, though, Sam opens his.

"I went after it. The crossroadsdemon."

And it's not like Dean's surprised. He had already noticed the missing bullet and it wasn't hard to add the numbers. Asking Sam about it though, would have meant hearing him admit it and that would have meant getting scared and angry and terrified and furious again and he was tired of all that. Sam's not leaving him much of a choice, though.

So he sits up a bit more, throws his legs over the side, feet firmly touching the floor, ready to jump up and bounce.

"Why?"

"Why? You're really asking me that? Why?"

"Yeah, Sam. _Why_. Because I thought I was clear on the matter."

"Yeah, well..."

"Sam, what the hell were you thinking?

"I was thinking about a way to get my brother out of the stupidass deal he made, actually."

"Yeah? You know the rules, Sam. I explained them to you. What if you had died, huh? What if you had died?!"

"Then everything would have been as it should be, wouldn't it?"

Dean's on his feet before Sam full and well realises it and within mere seconds he feels his back slam into the wall behind him, his head hitting the cement with jarring impact.

His brother is only inches away from him, practically growling, seething with anger. Underneath it though, is the fear he's been hiding. When he talks, it's through clenched teeth and Sam knows then that he's seconds away from ending up with a broken nose. Or a broken brother. He knows exactly which one he preferres.

"I didn't make this deal just to lose you all over again, Sam. I made it so that you could live."

"Yeah, and _I_ did it so that _you _could live."

Dean shakes his head then.

"You don't understand, Sam. We mess with this deal, you die! Did you not hear me the first time around?"

"Yes, Dean. I heard you. Problem is, _you're_ not hearing _me_. I am not going to let you die. You want me to let you go? How can I do that, Dean? How can I just let you give up your soul for me?"

Sam's voice is again where it has been so many times lately, on the edge of breaking into nothingness and there is nothing Dean can say to make it go away. Not this time.

"It's a done deal, Sam. It's already done. You're gonna have to let me go, dude."

"My death was a done deal too, Dean. Why didn't you let _me_ go?"

Dean knows he's running out of time. Not the days running away into the night, towards his faith of pain and fire, but the days he needs to make Sam _see_, to make him stop.

"Because I couldn't do it. I can't live without you, Sammy. It would have killed me just the same. At least this way one of us gets to live."

"And you think I can live without you? Is that it? You think I can watch you die, go back to school, live my life?"

There's an edge to Sam's voice now. One that reveals emotions beyond pain, anger and sadness. There is desperation there and Dean knows what that leads to, it's what drove him to those crossroads. What drove both of them there.

"I know you can."

"Dean, man. How can you..."

"You did it before." At Sam's disbelieving look, he hurries to add: "I don't mean it like that. I'm not making accusations. I'm just saying you can do it. Sure, it'll hurt, you'll go through a rough patch, but you'll be okay."

"A rough patch? Are you serious?"

"You know what I mean, Sam! You lived without me once, you'll do it again." A beat of silence, then: "You'll have to."

Sam only stares at him for a second longer, his gaze guarded and painfully open at the same time, before tearing his eyes away from his brother to look at the floor. He swallows heavily, blinks furiously and then directs his gaze towards Dean once more. This time, determination is the only emotion visible in his brown eyes.

"No, I won't."

* * *

The next few days found the brothers as tense and silent as they had ever been. Though neither of them was really angry with each other, neither of them could find the courage to start speaking, to crack that first bad joke. There was nothing funny left to say. They had used it all. 

A little emotional crap never stopped them from doing their job, however and they had just finished a hunt of the simplest kind. The spirit of a woman that had fallen down the stairs and broken her neck on her weddingday had been haunting the house and terrorising the newlyweds that had just moved in. A simple salt 'n burn had done the trick and now the brothers were on their way back to the hotel, longing for a shower and a good night's sleep.

Dean looked terrible. Dark circles under his eyes stood out almost radiantly against pale skin and his eyes, such a bright green by origin, had turned almost black. He looked absolutely and completely worn out. Sam didn't now at that moment how his brother was keeping the car moving and he made a vow to himself that he was gonna get his brother cleaned up and taken care of the moment they got back to the motel. Maybe he could try to get him to take some sleeping pills, some muscle relaxers. Dean's nightmares hadn't stopped, had, in fact, gotten even worse and Sam didn't think that his brother was getting more than maybe 2 or 3 hours of sleep a night. This wasn't working. The rate they were going, neither of them would last a year.

Standing in the doorway of their motelroom, Sam stared at his brothers sleeping form, hoping against all odds that the heavy painkillers he'd slipped his brother would do their job and let him sleep through the night. He knew what he was doing was wrong in every single way. It went against every feeling of love and loyalty he had for his brother but he knew he had no choice. He told himself he wouldn't be gone long, maybe Dean wouldn't even notice and eventually, hopefully, he'd understand, and even if he didn't, if it worked, that wouldn't matter. Dean could stay mad at him forever, as long as he was alive to be mad at him.

Louisiana had never left his mind. The moment Tamara had mentioned that there was a woman there who might be able to help, he knew he was going. Not just that he had to go, but that he would be going. The only question had been when. And how. He'd tried to tell Dean about it but he hadn't budged. Had, instead, told Sam to drop it. To let it go.

"We're not going and that's that."

So, Sam was gonna have to go alone, then. He'd called Bobby to let him know where he was going and although the older man had grunted a protest that sounded like "Your brother ain't gonna be pleased, Sam." He hadn't done much to talk Sam out of it and Sam knew exactly why that was. Bobby wanted Dean out of his deal as much as Sam did, (although maybe not exactly as much as Sam did because nobody wanted his brother out of that deal as much as Sam did) and the younger hunter knew that Bobby understood his decision.

He gave his brother a long, hard look, and flinched when he saw Dean's brow furrow. He wasn't gonna be here for the nightmares tonight and he could only hope Dean wouldn't wake up to find Sam gone. He took a deep breath, hoisted his duffel over his shoulder and stepped outside. He didn't look back but as he walked over to the car that he was about to "borrow", he sent a quick prayer up to whatever power was listening. A prayer asking to let his brother sleep through the night, to make the nightmares stop, to let him return to his brother and, above all, to not let this be another letdown, to let him find the cure.

* * *

**So, what's your favourite colour? What's your favourite food?**

**Tell me all about you...**and then tell what you thought of the story so far while you're at it. Your opinion matters.


	2. Chapter 2

**But the fear and the fire and the guns remain. **

**Author's note: **the second chapter in this trying tale (for me, that is). I should probably warn you that this could be considered AU because I started and practically finished it right after 'Bedtime Stories', but the show took care of some of this in a different (and better) way.

* * *

_He built a wall of steel and flame._

_And men with guns, to keep it tame._

_Then, standing back, he made it plain._

_That the nightmare would never rise again._

_But the fear and the fire and the guns remain._

_(Josh Groban with Ladysmith Black Mambazo and Vusi Mahlasela – Weeping.)_

**Chapter 2. **

The first thing Dean noticed when he woke up was that it was much later in the morning than he'd expected. The second thing was that Sam was gone. The second piece of information took about a full minute to sink in, the meaning of such a fleeting thought not registering until he saw that his little brothers duffel was missing and that there was no note.

The older man forced himself to calm down and take a deep breath. It was 11 o'clock now. How in the hell had he managed to sleep for this long? He tried to recall the past night but found that he really couldn't remember anything. He knew he'd been having nightmares for the past weeks, knew they were getting worse and worse every night and he could very clearly recall them in the morning. The faces and voices of those he loved haunting him with hurt expressions and vicious accussations but he honestly could not remember waking up from one this night, except for some vague memories of waking up and staring at a ceiling and seeing his brother's face in it and then wanting to call out to him, make sure he was okay until he saw the bathroomlight was on and realising that Sam was fine then and slipping back into the void. Thinking back to the night before, he knew Sam had slipped him a couple of painkillers, insisting on at least one good night of sleep for his older brother but he was sure Sam hadn't given him any sleeping pills. Right?

Cursing, he looked around the room, only now realising he'd been pacing the room for the past few minutes and decided to call both Sammy and then Bobby. Sam wasn't gonna pick up, but he had to try just to be sure. He was fairly certain that Sam had not been kidnapped by some evildoer, had instead left voluntarily. He also knew his little brother hadn't taken off with the intention of not coming back. A year ago, hell, a few months ago that might have been the first thought in his head, but he knew better now. He had less than a year to go, there was no way Sam was gonna just take off. Not with the grim determination he seemed to have to get his brother out of the deal that would end his life and take his soul. No, Sam had left because of some stupid lead that he thought might help him break the deal. Dean knew, as much as he despised the fact, that Sam wasn't gonna give up. Not yet. Chances were, he was on his way to some sort of witch' shop to buy incence and do chants or whatnot. Whatever. The most important thing was, right now, to get Sam the hell back. No matter that he didn't mean to stay gone, he was gone and it wasn't exactly the first time he'd woken up to an empty hotelroom, staring at nothing but space and air, not even a note left on the bedsidetable. His asshole of a little brother was turning this leaving-thing into a freaking hobby and it was gonna stop, _right the hell now._ He was gonna call him and call Bobby and haul his ass back and he was gonna give him a good and proper asskicking and then maybe _he_'d take off, leave Sam's ass behind for a change, see how he liked it.

Knowing full well that that was never going to happen (or, at least, the leaving-Sam's-ass-behind-part wasn't) he grabbed his stuff and pulled on his coat. He'd call from the road.

* * *

"Dean." 

The older man answered the phone without an introduction and there was no question in his voice. Bobby had been expecting this call. It told Dean all he needed to know.

"Where is he, Bobby? And don't bullshit me."

The other man didn't hesitate.

"Louisiana."

"Louisi...why the hell would he go to Louisiana, Bobby? What is in Louisia..." And then he remembered. Back in Nebraska, right after they'd nearly been filed by those seven freaking sins. Sam had mentioned wanting to go to Louisiana, wanting to talk to somebody there about his deal. He almost hit the steering wheel in frustration. He should have known Sam wouldn't let that go just because he'd said "nah".

When was he gonna stop underestimating his brother?

"Did he say anything?"

"Yeah. He said to tell you not to worry and that he'd be comin straight here so it'd be easier if you'd just come straight here as well, instead of crosscountrying straight to Louisiana."

Sam apparently didn't underestimate him.

"Of course he did." An almost grin fought its way through his anger and pulled at his upper lip. "Brat." Immediately, the grin wore off. "Shit Bobby, what am I gonna do?"

"I couldn't tell ya, kid. But I suggest you head this way, instead of hurrying after him. He's fine, he'll be back here soon enough. Said he'd check in, so we'll know he's alright."

"Yeah, whatever, alright. I'm on my way, so I'll be there soon as I can. He calls, you let me know, okay? He's not answering his cell."

"Sure thing."

And with those words, the conversation came to an end. Dean wasn't sure how he felt about driving over to Bobby's place instead of going after Sam but he knew it was probably the best thing to do. Even if he did get Louisiana before Sam left it, he'd still have to find him. No, he'd best meet up with him at Bobby's. He kept repeating these words to himself all the way to Bobby's and not once, in the hours it took him to reach his destination, did he believe them.

* * *

"_Do you think something's wrong with my brother?"_

It was a question that never left Bobby's mind. "Nah." He had answered with a slight note of worry and hesitation in his gruff voice. "Demons lie."

Yeah, demons lied. But so did humans and Bobby had been lying when he'd answered that particular question. Just like Dean had been lying when he'd agreed.

Not that Bobby really thought that something evil had taken over the softhearted Sam Winchester, not that he thought something was really wrong with the boy.

It was just that something was different. Not evilinspired different but different all the same. There was an edge to the kid that hadn't been there before he...well...died. And came back. But then again, Bobby told himself, the kid hadn't died before, only to be brought back from that death by a stubborn and painfully loyal big brother. A big brother who had damned his soul to hell to get his little brother back. There was bound to be an edge there, because, even though Sam had always known his brother loved him, it had taken dying to make him realise how much exactly his brother loved him. He had woken up to a world not his, where a war was about to break loose and his big brother was dying. Like he said, an edge was bound to arise. But still...it was different. Bobby couldn't put his finger on how it was different but it was. There was something in the boy's eyes. Not all the time, not permanently etched into them, but occasionally. There were moments, flashes really, in which Bobby could see more than just the windows to the soul. Not evil, never evil, but the willingness to _become_ evil, if it meant saving his brother. Sam would never purposefully hurt another being, not unless the being was hurting someone else. But these days, Bobby could see the determination on the verge of being dangerous because there was nothing Sam wouldn't do to save his brother. Nothing. Not even killing. And there, right there, lied the difference between the brothers, because Dean would never let himself cross over to the other side. He would never let himself become what he hunted. If he hadn't been able to save Sam, Bobby was pretty sure Dean would have just eaten a bullet. He knew the older boy would never be able to wake up in a world Sam wasn't waking up in, and he would have taken his own life in a heartbeat, an apology directed at his father his last words. But Sam...Sam was different. Softer in the sense that he'd been able to hold onto some of that innocence Dean had fought so hard to give him, but he was also tougher. He rarely rushed into a situation, knew what he was doing on every given moment, no matter the time and place and when he'd bolted into that room in Ohio, he'd known exactly what he was going to do. Again, Bobby didn't think the boy was anywhere near turning evil, would never be able to with his brother next to him, but the fact was that the younger Winchester took after his daddy a lot more than he'd ever be willing to admit. Vengeance was what had brought him back to the game and it was determination to save his brother that tied him to it now. Saving people had never been his first instinct. Dean, on the other hand, had never done the job because of a thirst for vengeance. He saved people and hunted things, in that order. Boy didn't have an evil bone in his body. Nothing. Sam didn't have the same memories his brother had, hadn't seen what Dean had seen and hadn't experienced the responsibility Dean had always carried. He possessed instead, a sugarcoated memory of the Winchester way of life. It made him purer, kinder, healthier maybe but it also meant he didn't have the same morals, not that his were any less good, they just weren't as selfless. It was what would have made him such a fine lawyer, Bobby contemplated as he watched a familiar Impala drive up to the porch. As he watched the older of the two barge up to the kitchendoor, he heaved a weary sigh. He sure hoped Sam would hurry the hell up, or it was gonna be long day.

* * *

"Where the hell is he, Bobby? Wasn't he supposed to be back by now?" 

Dean was pacing the kitchen like he had been for the past few hours and it was starting to drive Bobby up the wall.

"He'll check in soon enough again, Dean. Just like he did 3 hours ago, when he said he'd be here sometime this night. It's not even midnight yet, son."

"That's not good enough. I am never listening to him again. It's not like he listens to me. He better be here soon or I'm gonna go out and find his ass myself."

They weren't words so much as snarls and grumbles and Bobby had the fleeting thought that maybe Sam had been wrong in saying that his brother would huff and puff but eventually get it. On second thought, Sam had probably known all that and had only said that to make sure Bobby would help him out. If he ever did get back, he'd kick the boy's ass himself.

Watching Dean trace his own steps from the table to the fridge again, looking out the window and glancing at the clock the entire time, he decided that enough was enough and that if Dean didn't calm himself down very soon, he'd save them both the trouble and kill them himself.

"Calm yourself down, son. The kid is fine. He just checked in and he'll be back here in a few hours. Maybe you should try and get some sleep cause, no offense, but you look like hell."

Very rarely had the younger man looked at Bobby, whom he both liked and respected almost as much as his father, the way he did now.

"I'm not exactly set for a good night's sleep, Bobby. In case you missed it, my brother is out there trying to break a deal I don't want broken and it's gonna get him killed! I don't need sleep. I need to know he's okay!"

"Okay, son. I get that. I get where your head is at right now but will ya stop for a second? Because I got something to say that might come as a surprise to you, but your brother is not out in Louisiana trying to break that deal to piss you off, he's doing it because he wants you in his life. Did you really expect him to walk away whistling after learning his big brother gambled away his soul to get him back to life?"

"..."

"'s what I thought, so how about you sit your ass down and eat something and I'm gonna go and call him and see where he's at."

* * *

"Sam. Where the hell are you? Your brother is going crazy, and it ain't nothing, but he's drving me up the wall." 

"Bobby. I'm almost there. Couple of hours. Tell him I'm fine."

And with those words another phoneconversation with a Winchester ended. Bobby sighed as he walked back to the livingroom, where Dean had finally taken a seat on the couch. The young man was sprawled across the couch, eyes closed, head tipped back.

Bobby stood in the dooropening, unable to take his eyes off the man on the couch. Sometimes, if he was tired enough, felt old enough and he looked at these boys, he let himself feel everything he'd forced himself to repress over the years. The lives these boys had lived, were still living. The people they had lost, the pain they had known. And when he looked at Dean, the way he did now, it took everything he had in him not to howl his rage at wherever John was for making his boys grow up the way they had, for making them do what they did. For killing them.

He turned and went back to the kitchen. If was gonna be waiting for Sam, he was gonna need coffee and Dean was bound to wake up any minute now. Sometimes, when he was very tired and felt very old, he wondered how he himself did it.

* * *

Bobby woke up from his slump on the porch' ragged chair when he heard a car on the grovel of his driveway and saw an old car making it's way up to the house. He got up and walked forward, turning to glance through the window, where Dean still lay passed out on the couch. The older boy hadn't woken up in the past few hours and Bobby was starting to worry, had considered calling Sam but had eventually decided against it. The kid would only worry and as far as Bobby could tell there was nothing really wrong with the older Winchester, other than having the occasional nightmare. At least he was sleeping. Now, however, as Dean still lay unmovable, he regretted not calling Sam. He didn't know why he was all that worried, couldn't tell you why the look of Dean, frowning and practically immobile had him so unnerved but as Sam made his way to the door, a questioning look in his eyes at the absence of his big brother, he knew that feeling was right. Sam wasn't gonna like this. 

"Hey Bobby." He ducked his head the way he had done ever since outgrowing his brother as he reached the door, and smiled slightly, the anxiousness plain on his face.

"Where's Dean?"

"He's asleep. On the couch, but Sam..."

"He's asleep? I thought that...what?"

"I think something's off. I don't think he's woken up at all since I called you. He's been out completely, moaning every now and then. I can't get him to wake up."

Sam didn't say another word as he made his way to the couch and stopped next to it to stare down at his brothers frowning face. He crouched next to Dean's head and put an arm on his wrist.

"Dean."

No movement.

"Dean. Dean, can you hear me? It's Sam. I'm back. Can you open your eyes?"

There is no reaction and it scares Sam more than anything because Dean has never not responded to him. Not unless he was absolutely incapable. And he was never incapable unless he was really, really hurt.

"He can't just not wake up, Bobby."

The older hunter stands aside, hands wringing. He's almost as nervous as Sam is. And as scared as John would be. He watches as Sam tries to wake his brother again. And again. And again. In the end, the younger man is almost shouting but there is no reaction. The only movement Dean shows is the occasional twitch and shudder, that frown never leaving his face.

"What's wrong with him, Bobby? What's happening to my brother?"

"I got nu clue, kid. Wish I could tell ya."

The flippancy his tone holds by nature is in short supply.

"He won't wake up, Bobby. "

"I guess I could check the books, see if there's anything about this sort of thing. I gotta admit, I highly doubt it. There's nothing to see, just looks like he's asleep so we won't know what's wrong."

"Just...just try, Bobby. Thanks. I'm gonna call Missouri, see if she knows anything."

* * *

It's hours, impossibly trying long hours, later that Sam hears Bobby call out to him. 

There is a dryness to the hunter's voice that has never been there, not even when they told him John was dead. He's scared and that throws Sam even more. Bobby has always had the answers.

"I may have found something here, Sam." He barely looks up when Sam enters the kitchen, where books, papers and artefacts Sam could not care less about are sprawled all over the table, the counter and the floor.

" I remember hearing about things like this happening several times over the years. People ending up in the hospital, seemingly in a coma. Turns out they weren't so much in a coma, as stuck in their own head."

He glanced up to see Sam's reaction and saw confusion painted on the boy's face. A boy now, because the young man he really was, had disappeared the moment he'd seen his brother lying on that couch.

"In their own worlds, trapped in nightmares, in thoughts."

"But how? How did that happen, Bobby? He was fine, before. I mean...not fine, but..."

"That's the thing, we don't know. It could have to do with anything. I'm sure there are witches or demons that can do this, but it can also be caused by stress or trauma. Nobody knows. Why do you think asylums are full of people that seemed to get sick or "crazy" out of the blue? Why do people attack or kill other people? There are always reasons, Sam but we don't always find them. There is no telling of what is doing this to your brother. In any other time, I would have said maybe a demon did this, but with what you two have been through, and with the life your brother's had..."

"What do you mean?" There was still the boy there, the little brother, who refused to believe in his hero's weaknesses.

"Sam...you know the life you two have led has not done you either a lot of good, you've carried things you never should have, both of you. But your brother...He's had responsibilities thrust upon him when he was four that he shouldn't be carrying even now. That's not your fault, and although I've always been the first to fight your daddy on how he handled you boys, it's not really his fault either, it's the hand that life dealt you. Thing is, no matter how well Dean's done, it's been breaking him from the start. His life stopped being an actual life the moment that demon killed your mother and turned your father into the person he was. His only purpose was you, Sam and when you..."

There's a hitch then, Like he still can't look at the picture his memory draws up, still can't believe what he's been a witness to.

"When he lost you...I don't think it's something he'll ever get over. There was nothing left. And then he saved you and now he's facing eternity in hell and a year to think about that, while knowing full well that what he's done is gonna have it's effect on you..."

The end of that sentence ran into the air and Bobby turned his face down into the book in front of him. Sam stood frozen to the spot, every muscle in his body aching like they were on fire. He'd known all of this. They were every thought in his head for the past couple of weeks, but to hear them from Bobby's lips, and he doesn't think he can remember Bobby ever talking this much, made them more than thoughts, made them facts. He needed to concentrate on saving his brother, however, not on what he'd done to him. Now and tomorrow.

"What are we gonna do about it? How will we get him out of it?

Bobby sighed. The sigh of a man older than his years. He rubbed his face, screwed his eyes together.

"It's his own mind that's doing this. His own fears and thoughts that are keeping him hostage. We're gonna have to get in there too. Or, _you_ are. You need to get into wherever he's trapped. Get in his head. And talk him out of it."

"How?"

There's a spell. A ritual of some sort. Your former psychic powers may not hurt either. And since you two have been living in each other's pocket practically your whole lives, it shouldn't be as hard for you to connect to him."

"Okay, let's go then."

"Sam, before we start, this stuff is... This is old magic. Getting inside someone's head, invading their minds like that...it's not to be taken lightly. You gotta be able to reach him, Sam. Without forcing your way. He might not let you and you can't force it. You gotta connect to him."

"I can do that."

"Sam...we have no way of knowing what you're gonna see in there. It's Dean's territory. They're _his_ fears. You gotta be prepared. You might be seeing things you're not gonna like."

"I know, Bobby. I'm...I don't wanna do this, but there's no other way. I'm not losing him to this."

As he stepped aside to let Bobby through, what he'd just said came back to him. _"I don't wanna do this..." _Was that even true? Did he really not want to do this? Was there not some part of him that wanted this? The part of him that wanted to know his brother. Wanted to see what was in his head. Dean was so closed off, so private, so _alone._ No matter how much he'd gotten to see in the past few years, he'd never gotten even close to really seeing inside his brother. Sometimes, when he thought about how badly he wanted to see what was in his brothers head, he was reminded of a book he'd once read, years ago. About a man whose true love had vanished from the face of the earth and whose fate he'd never learned. The man had had to make the choice for himself then: find out what had happened to her and let her die, or never know but let her live in happiness, away from him. This was not the same at all and he wasn't sure why it made him think of how far he'd go to get his brother to open up, to let him _see_ and he was surprised to realise that now that he was about to learn what he'd always wanted to know, he felt like he was facing the same choice.

* * *

It was barely an hour later when Bobby, armed with books, candles and bottles he didn't want to know about entered the livingroom, where Dean was still lying on the couch, brow furrowed, muscles tense. He looked at his brother and then raised his eyes to meet Bobby. 

"You ready?"

_Never._

"Yeah."

* * *

**Okay people, I am just going to ask: will you please review? Please?**


	3. Chapter 3

**But the fear and the fire and the guns remain.**

**Author's note: Hope you're still enjoying it. **

**Disclaimer** (because I seem to have forgotten. Or maybe I'm delusional) It all belongs to people who aren't me. Eric Kripke and his legion of brainiacs and the CW and it's band of buggered among them.

* * *

_He built a wall of steel and flame._

_And men with guns, to keep it tame._

_Then, standing back, he made it plain._

_That the nightmare would never rise again._

_But the fear and the fire and the guns remain._

_(Josh Groban with Ladysmith Black Mambazo and Vusi Mahlasela – Weeping.)_

Chapter 3.

The music he was sure wasn't there swelled to an almost unbearable volume and the light, so black and blinding it shouldn't carry the name, was like an eclipse, blinding him even when his eyes were pressed shut. His world, his mind, his body, were spinning towards nothing and for a second he thought he was gonna end up in where his brother was gonna be in a year and then the sounds stopped and the pressure on his eyes disappeared and his world halted to a stop.

He blinked twice and at the second blink, which lasted a fraction of a second longer than the first, he opened his eyes to a world, a realm, that was both unlike anything he'd ever experienced before and yet so achingly familiar he didn't have to question where he was. the spell had worked. He was inside Dean's head now. Dean's mind, Dean's world. A place that was never meant to be seen, to be intruded, by others. By him. A place that wasn't his but that was so undeniably part of his world. He didn't have much time to adjust to what was around him. He barely had the time or the mind to register the long hallway he was moving through, a look backwards showing him his own lanky figure.

"_Is that what you want me to do, Dean? Just let you go?" _

The question, asked by his own strangely foreignsounding voice, surrounded him. It bounced off walls and shot bolts of light through his body, but before he could respond, react, do anything to understand where he was, he was out of the hospitalcorridor and he was sitting in the car. Him and Dean. A wellworn argument that had been playing over and over in his own mind.

"_Why not? Because you say so?"_

"_You're not dad!"_

"_And if we don't mess with it, you die!"_

A switch again and he was standing next to a hospitalbed, a man he only barely recognized asking him how he'd feel if it had been his brother.

"_I couldn't imagine anything worse."_

He barely had registered the pain and wonder in his big brother's eyes as he saw himself speak those words. Emotions he hadn't seen at the time because he'd been too busy avoiding those eyes, knowing his own would be filled with pain and anger he didn't want to put on his brother right then.

"_What you did was selfish"_

He saw Dean shrug, as if to rid himself of the guilt and tears in his little brother's eyes, the despair in his own.

"_How could you do that?" _

An accusing tone, a pleading one.

"_Did you sacrifice your life for me, like dad did for you?"_

He felt himself say the words, he felt his lips move, but it wasn't him. He was merely a bystander and all he could see was his brother.

"_Guess I gotta save your ass for a change"_

The joy, the love, the peace in his brother's eyes as he'd said that. How had he missed that before? It wasn't belief that Sam's words would come true. It was joy over simply hearing those words. Relief at finding that Sam wasn't blind to his sacrifices and was just as willing to make them. Acknowledgement that the strong bond he had with his brother, the overwhelming love he felt for him, went both ways.

Before he could figure out what that meant exactly, a twirl that felt strangely like a dance, had him away from his place in front of his brother and back to where his life had been ended by a human.

"_Dean!" a boyish smile, a brotherly smile, painted his lips._

He felt himself go down, fall to his knees, sag down into his brother's arms. He remembered this.

_"Sammy...Sam! Lemme look at you...It's not even that bad...we're gonna patch ya up...I'll take care of you...I'll take care of you, I got ya..."_

He didn't remember _that_. The loss, the fear, the desperate panic in Dean's voice, in his eyes.

_"You won't let me help you."_

"_You're on edge, you're erratic, except for when you're hunting, 'cause then you're downright scary!"_

He remembered exactly how he'd felt back then, begging his brother to confide in him a little. Remembered exactly how terrified he'd been.

"_You didn't consider actually making that deal right?"_

The silence drowning in guitarriffs, the faraway look on Dean's face as he bites his lips and keeps the Impala moving. They're an answer to his question, even if they were never meant that way.

"_Dean, I wanted to thank ya. You've always had my back."_

The surprised look on his brother's face when he thanked him. As if no one had ever gone through the trouble before. _Because_ no one had ever done so. As if he expected Sam to not even notice how much he'd given up. Why hadn't he seen those things before?

"_It's suicide! _

_"I don't care!"_

"_I do!"_

Dean's desperate hands grabbing at him, afraid to even blink, because maybe his little brother will disappear, will tear himself free and walk back into those allconsuming flames.

He turns again and stares at a much younger, much smaller version of himself. He's being bundled up in blankets by John, who has a strange and unnerving expression on his face. If Sam hadn't been looking as carefully as he was, he would have mistaken the panic for rage. The fear for disappointment. He looks around, wonders where Dean is and gets his answer when John storms past his eldest, out of the door and towards the car parked in front of just another motel and he noticed only at the second glance that Dean is crying. His big brother is crying and even though he knows that, in this memory, in this place, his big brother is only a kid, it startles him. He's obviously here, he's part of the story, but he can't remember Dean crying. He can't remember this at all. He starts moving in the direction of his father, who is sitting behind the wheel now and is leaning out of the window and calling out to his oldest son. Dean hurries to the car and gets into the backseat with his brother but he doesn't speak, nor does he cry anymore. He just grabs his brother and stares out of the window. Sam stares at it all, hears his brother mumble apologies into his brother's hair and he wants to open his mouth, wants to be able to ask and then suddenly he understands. He knows exactly when and what this is. This is the night the Shtriga attacked. The night Dean still has nightmares about, that has shaped and fashioned him maybe more than any other experience in his less than thirty years. He watches the scenery shoot by as John steps up the gas more and more. His anger, his fear are palpable, they're etched in every line on his face, they scream in his eyes and Sam's suddenly pretty sure that if his father would open his mouth to talk, only a howl would come out. It's clear and it's painful but it's nothing compared to the terror and the guilt pouring off the boy sitting by the window, clinging to his little brother (who is, by now long back asleep) like a lifeline. The resolution to never let go written in glassy eyes.

And he never had, Sam realised as he blinked to keep his own tears from falling. He had never let go until Sam had made him.

There was no moment to contemplate that thought before he found himself staring at their younger selves, alone in a motelroom on Christmas Eve. Sam was unwrapping presents that had never been meant for him. He heard himself questioning a squirming Dean and he watched as Dean reluctantly admitted he'd stolen them and then hesitantly accept the amulet originally meant for their father. He remembered this so very well. He remembered the look on his brother's face when Sam had given him the present. He remembered Dean saying he'd never take it off. But, again, he saw only now how much that gift must have meant to his big brother because when, aside from the Impala, had Dean ever gotten a gift?

Every scene he witnessed was too short to process but at the same time seemed to last forever. He felt every change in emotion, every facial expression, every internal struggle his brother went through. It was all right there, etched onto Dean's face and into his memory. He saw it all, felt everything. There were so many emotions, so much pain and heartache that he had to wonder, in amazement, how his brother had survived. Had managed to keep smiling. He wasn't sure how all this worked. He was watching memories replay in Dean's head, knew the part he'd played in every single one of them, yet he couldn't see anything but his brother. Right now, he was staring at the kitchen of yet another motelroom where Dean was convincing John to let Sam join the school's soccerteam. He saw John cave in when Dean promised he'd do the necessary research for the upcoming hunt and fill in for Sam where needed. He remembered Dean coming into their room to tell him he'd be allowed to join the soccerteam. He's never known the struggle that came before. Next thing he knew, he was watching his brother being carried through the door, bleeding from what seemed like everywhere. John was yelling at Sam to get the first aid-kit and then mumbling at Dean about how everything would be fine and all would be well and why had he insisted Sammy join the soccerteam, goddammit, because now look what had happened.

Sam stood at the sidelines, gladly working up the familiar rage against his father when the scenery once again changed and he saw himself fall to his knees after having a vision.

He watched Dean abandoning the guns he was cleaning and rush towards his brother, worry and fear in his eyes.

A rush forward, but a step back in time, as he saw himself shouting at his father in a fight he'd never forget a single word of. Dean stepping forward, putting his hands flat against their chests in an attempt to seperate them. Sam felt his chest constrict when he heard his father warn him about the consequences of leaving, saw himself walking through the door. Back then, he'd walked out the door, without looking back to see what he was leaving behind. He'd walked straight to the busstation and hadn't seen or heard anything until his brother appeared right in front of him, grabbing his hand only to pull it back, leaving him with all the money he'd had been able to muster up and an actual legal creditcard in his own name. Now, as he stayed behind in a memory that wasn't his, he witnessed his brother stare after his father as the older man walked out the door as well, aiming cutting words towards his oldest son.

"_You happy now?"_

At Dean's astonished look, he added:

"_I warned you about coddling him, Dean. This is on you."_

He almost doubled over in pain when Dean only stared at the open door for what felt like centuries. Then, he walked over to it, closed it carefully and went to clean up the room Sam had turned upside down in his hurry to leave. His eyes showing no emotions, his body shaking.

He felt the familiar pull and suddenly found himself sitting in the Impala, next to his brother as the older man was confronted with Sam's voicemail once again. He knew he hadn't answered his phone whenever his brother called, while he'd been at Stanford. He also knew he had been hurting his brother. He had underestimated how much though, the hurt but accepting look on Dean's face almost cutting him in half.

Next was the moment he'd told his brother he couldn't wait to get this over with. His excitement to finish this and "be a person again", written so plainly on his face while Dean looked at him, then bowed his head. It started to sink in for Sam, why Dean was not as scared of dying as he maybe should be. If he was never gonna get what he wanted most, if the chances of your dreams coming true were zero to zero, what was the point in fighting?

The next memory that hit him was one that brought both joy and desperation as he looked at his brother staring as Sam and John actually hugged each other after a four year seperation, back in Chicago. The relief on Dean's face as he stood on the sideline was so clear Sam could almost grab onto it.

He spinned again and fell into a room where John was angrily telling Dean that he should have called him when Sam started having visions and then, in a moment hours later, heard their father make an offhand comment about the state of the Impala. He always knew what John was capable of when it came to Dean, but he had once again underestimated what such a comment did to his brother. He saw Dean shrug it off and get behind the wheel as he saw himself smile lightly. Now, as he watched this all from a different point of view, he wanted to slap that smile off his own face as he saw the hurt in his big brother's eyes.

Again, the air shifted and he was standing outside as Dean told their father to take off without them, right after that incident with Meg. He still remembered how angry he'd been but now he saw how much it had hurt his brother and he couldn't believe he hadn't seen it back then. The man was Dean's hero, his death had nearly killed him. How had Sam not seen what it did to his brother to send him away?

A young, beautiful woman appeared out of nowhere, taunting Dean, about their father's death, the deal she could give him. John alive, their family together again, ten whole years to spend with his brother and father. He almost threw up the nothing he ate when he saw the doubt in his brother's eyes, the hesitation, the _longing._

Suddenly, he was back in Jim's cabin, the demon, wearing John's body, breaking Dean with more than physical wounds. The words ripping apart more than anything else ever could. He heard himself scream but it didn't register. The only thing he could see his brother's eyes as he tried to hide the deep, deep hurt the demon was causing. Back then, he'd convinced himself that Dean knew better than to believe those lies, but he would never be able to tell himself that again after this.

The demon, now in another man's body, was still aiming hurtful words at his brother in the next scene. He knew this one better than any other; Dean lying up against a headstone as the demon they'd later killed sent hit after hit, gleefully talking about Dean's "_pathetic, selfloathing, selfdestructive desire to sacrifice himself for his family."_

Then came the part that he'd missed, being pinned against a tree. The demon kneeled next to his brother, a diabolic smile grazing its face. As if he knew exactly the hurt he was causing and what the next thing out of his mouth would do.

"_How sure are you, that what you brought back is one hundred percent-pure-Sam?"_

Before he even had time to come up with a response, he was being swept away.

He was back at Cold Oak, sinking into his brother's arms. He watched Dean scream his name, watched him growl at Bobby as he tried to touch Sam and then could do nothing but stare as, the next moment in another cabin, Dean shouted, _shouted,_ at Bobby to take off. He didn't think he would ever see his brother more broken.

Until he sat and almost had to close his eyes at the pure and utter despair and pain and selfloathing that was pouring off Dean as he sat next to Sam's body ( he'd been dead. Actually dead. And there had been a body. And Dean had seen that. And soon, he might know exactly what that felt like) and talked about how he'd failed.

"_You know, when you were little...you couldn't have been more than five...you started asking these questions...how come we didn't have a mom, why did we always have to move around...where did dad go? I mean, He'd take off for days at a time...__I remember I begged you; quit asking, Sammy. Man, you don't wanna know...I just wanted you to be a kid. Just for a little while longer. I was trying to protect you, keep you safe. Dad didn't even have to tell me. It was just always my responsibility, you know? It's like I had one job. I had one job. And I screwed it up. I blew it. And for that, I'm sorry. But I guess that's what I do. I let down the people I love. I let dad down, and now I guess I'm just supposed to let you down too? How can I? How am I supposed to live with that? What am I supposed to do? Sammy? What am I supposed to do?"_

The heartbreak in these words, seeping through each syllable, were almost too much to bear. Sam felt hot tears roll down his cheeks and felt bile rise in his throath. How was it possible that Dean was saying these things? Part of him wanted to run and forget he'd ever seen this, the other part wanted to grab hold of his brother and yell at him for being such an idiot, for believing the demon's words, for thinking he could ever let him down.

Just when he was thinking he was never gonna forget a word of that speech, spoken to his dead body, he was again looking at a darkhaired woman, who was walking circles around his brother. But it wasn't her he was growing angry with this time, it wasn't her he was scared of. It was Dean he wanted to scream at as he stood, helplessly, watching his brother gamble his life away. The older man wasn't negotiating, wasn't bargaining. He was begging.

Back again now, at Cold Oak, the endless scene replaying. He saw his own boneless form, sagged against his brother's chest.

He saw Dean walking into the cabin where Sam stood in front of the mirror, checking his back. The relief on his brother's face on seeing him alive made his heart skip a beat. Stole his breath away. Dean was closing the distance between them, put his arms around his little brother, closed his eyes at the contact. Sam closed his at the realisation that he'd never returned it.

He was in his brother's arms again, knees in the mud as Dean buried his face in Sam's neck.

Bobby was shouting at Dean, a look of heartbreaking disbelief on his face. As if that which he had feared most had actually happened.

_"At least, this way, my life can mean something."_

"_What, and it didn't before? Are you that screwed in the head?!"_

Dean's silence was all the answer either Sam or Bobby needed and Sam felt another piece of his heart fade away.

The mud, the rain, his head on Dean's shoulder, Dean's face in his neck.

A basement or something that looked like a dungeon. A young woman, possessed by a demon. Sam couldn't recall her name, he could only remember he'd killed her.

"_That deal you made to save Sam? A lot of others would mock you for it. Say it was weak or stupid. I don't."_

"_You're not scared?"_

"_Nah."_

"_Not even a little?"_

"_Of course not."_

He wondered sometimes why Dean even bothered telling such obvious lies, even to himself. Mostly to himself. It wasn't to protect Sam, it was to protect himself. To keep himself upright, from unraveling at the seams.

_"You're not gonna like it, Dean."_

There was no malice in the girl's voice, Sam noticed. No pleasure at telling Dean this. In fact, if her voice betrayed anything, it was sympathy and for a split second he felt a twinge of guilt at shooting her in cold blood, about not even stopping to wonder if she was really the evil he'd taken her for.

The mud, Bobby's footsteps, the tears.

_"You're not gonna like it, Dean."_

There was pity too. And at that moment Sam thinks that maybe if he had let her live, she might have been able to help them. Just maybe.

The mud, the rain, a heart breaking.

_"You're not gonna like it, Dean."_

Why was he here again? Why did this keep coming back? It was a question he didn't need an answer to. He knew what this was. He knew Dean was scared. Terrified even, of his impending fate. Of losing his brother. Both lead to the same path. One way or another, Dean was gonna end up alone, knowing he couldn't protect his little brother. One way or another, he was going to end up in hell.

_"That's my job right? Take care of my pain-in-the-ass little brother?"_

This was too much. He couldn't keep coming back here, because it wasn't himself he was watching die every time, it was Dean.

_"I'll give you one year."_

Oh God, How could he have done that?

_"You're not gonna like it, Dean."_

Sam felt his throat constrict.

_"Gone and got your family killed."_

He watched the pain in his brother's eyes turn those lies into truths Dean could never face.

_"You're not gonna like it."_

He couldn't breathe and he wondered if it was possible to die in this world that didn't exist outside Dean's head, but would now forever exist in his as well.

One darkhaired beauty turned into another.

_"All alone in the world."_

He wanted to yell at the demon to shut the hell up but he couldn't move the words past his lips and he knew that even if he could, it wouldn't make a difference.

_"It's a better deal than your dad ever got."_

The resignation in those green eyes.

_"Sam!!"_

The light going out in brown eyes and green.

"_What do I have to do?"_

He was begging. _Begging._

"_Sam!...Nooooooooo!!!" _

The scream came before he knew it. Primal and angry...the sound cutting through skin and bones.

It took longer than it should have to realise it came from him.

The scene before him disappeared, the sound of the girl's voice slowly fading into the background until it stopped altogether. He was back in the hospitalcorridor, where he'd started. Only this time he wasn't watching his brother walk away.

* * *

**I once read somewhere that only 1 out of a 100 readers leave a review. **

**Would you be that 1? Please?**


	4. Chapter 4

**But the fear and the fire and the guns remain. **

**Author's note: **Just a sidenote: chb76 asked me in a review whether this came from me or that I read the spoilers and based my story on those. That was interesting because, until now, I have been as unspoiled as can be. I've heard a bit about it now and I just wanted to say in all honesty that I really have been completely unspoiled so, yes, this came from no one but me. If the actual show would do something like this, it would be done a lot, lot better.

Apologies for the extreme tardiness.

* * *

_He built a wall of steel and flame._

_And men with guns, to keep it tame._

_Then, standing back, he made it plain._

_That the nightmare would never rise again._

_But the fear and the fire and the guns remain._

_(Josh Groban with Ladysmith Black Mambazo and Vusi Mahlasela – Weeping.)_

Chapter 4.

His brother sat before him, balanced on a wooden chair. His feet firmly planted on the ground that wasn't there. He cocked his head and smiled. That smile that he used when he was trying to keep his mask in place.

"What's the matter, Sammy? Why you screaming like that?"

"Dean. Wha...why...where are we?"

A chuckle that didn't feel quite real, escaped his brother's lips.

"You tell me. You're the one that got us here. Not that I mind, wasn't exactly enjoying the show, if you know what I mean. Not a hot chick in any of those things and let me tell you; I've had my fair share."

Sam could only gape at what was sure to be a figment of his imagination. What was he supposed to do now? What was he supposed to say?

"Dean...what are you doing?"

"I'm waiting for you to figure it out, Sammy."

He had always been called the smart one. The one who uses big words and run-on sentences. Dean has accused him more than once of using that as a means of distraction. His brother, however, was the master of diversion tactics. He would stop at nothing, going as far as endangering his own health, just to get you to change the subject. He knew every trick. Sam did not have the patience to deal with any of those right now.

"Figure out what? What are you talking about?"

"I'm talking about this, kiddo. About everything you just saw. I'm not too happy about that, by the way, but it's not like you didn't know already how fucked up I am, right? And maybe it will make you see."

"See what, Dean? Why can't you wake up?"

"Because you don't get it. You still don't see."

Even inside Dean's head he wanted to strangle him to almost-death.

"Dean! What is it that I'm supposed to see?! What are you talking about?"

"You, Sammy. And me. And that damn deal that I made."

"What about it? I...I'm gonna save you, Dean. I know you don't believe me, but I will."

"I do believe you, Sammy. If I didn't, we wouldn't be stuck here in the first place."

That got Sam's attention. Maybe Dean wasn't being cryptic and evasive. Maybe Dean knew exactly what he was saying. Sam just didn't.

"What??"

"I know you wanna save me, Sam. And I know that you might actually be able to pull it off at some point. That's why we're here."

"Dean..." His hands were itching to grab his brother by his collar and throw him across wherever they were.

"Dean. How can you be afraid of that? You really want to die?"

There would never be the right words to express the plain weirdness of talking to his brother like this. Here. Wherever 'here' was exactly.

"Of course not. Don't be an idiot."

"You're the one talking about the light at the end of the tunnel,Dean."

"Yeah, but that doesn't mean it's my fondest wish to die. I just..."

"You what?"

"I really am tired, Sam. And I was never meant to win the race."

"What?"

A mocking, yet tender smile in Dean's eyes, like those only exchanged between people who loved each other.

"Glad to see Stanford finally paying off."

"Shut up, Dean."

"See? That's what I mean. So eloquent, my Sammy is."

"Knock it off, Dean. It's not gonna work. Explain it to me."

Dean sighed one of those weary sighes then, that he reserved strictly for when he was dealing with an impossible baby brother.

"Alright, Major Tom, but listen carefully. I'm so not in the mood for another one of your tantrums."

"I don't have tantrums..."

The raising of Dean's eyebrows spoke volumes and Sam caved.

"Okay, I'll be quiet."

"How very kind of you."

"Dean."

"Yeah, yeah. Okay. Look, Sammy...I don't want to die. Okay? Let's get that out of the way. I really don't. But I'm not gonna live."

"Dean."

"No, Sam. I don't mean it like that. Well...not _just_ like that. I meant that even if I don't die in a few months. I am never gonna live either. Not really. Not like you could. I am never gonna have that white picket fence, 2.5 kids, and the golden retriever. That's never gonna happen for me and you know that. I know everything inside you is denying it but you know it. And the thing is, the thing that you just won't accept, is that even though I don't want to die, it's okay."

"How can it be okay? You're going to hell. _Hell_, Dean."

"Yeah, I know. Trust me, I know. And I'm not exactly looking forward to it, but...I don't wanna live and _not_ live either Sam. And I don't want you not living either. You should go back to school, marry someone, have kids. You should, Sam. You really should. You deserve that and I want you to have that. And although I hate not being able to see that happening, chances of that were never really big now were they?"

"What are you talking about? You don't know..."

Dean just raised his eyebrows again and interrupted his little brother with a tired, but all but angry, sigh.

" Thought you said you were gonna let me finish?" A resigned look now. the one he wore when he was on the verge of losing something, someone he loved and prepared himself, forced himself, to accept it.

"I mean: what part would I have in your life if you went back to the 'real world', Sam? And I don't mean that in a bitter way. I get it, I do. But I'd hate it. And now, far from it being the perfect solution, I don't have to worry about that."

The confusion of being here, of having this conversation with his brother in a figment of Dean's imagination, was quickly wearing down both Sam's energy and patience.

"About what? Dean..."

Dean, on the other hand, was as calm and collected and honest as he had ever been.

"About not fitting into your life. About losing you. I always knew you were gonna leave again, that you were gonna go back and at least this way, I don't have to be afraid of not being a part of your life. Sick as it may be, and I do know it's pretty sick, it gives me...peace. Rest."

Sam fell silent then. What was he supposed to say to this? How was he supposed to convince Dean that he was wrong when, in all honesty, he wasn't?

He knew Dean's fears of not fitting into his life were based on more than air. Had Jessica not died, they probably wouldn't be in each other's lives today.

"Dean...I know that maybe, if I had still been in school...that...but that's not the case. I'm not in school. I'm here. I'm with you. And I don't want to go back to school, Dean. That's not for me anymore. I just want..."

"What, Sammy?"

"I just want my brother back."

The silence was held by Dean this time, the easy and calm smile that had been on his face completely gone.

"Sammy..."

"No, Dean. We've had this conversation a million times and, somehow, you've managed to miss the point every single time. I don't want to go back to Stanford. I want you back. _You_. The you I've always known. Not the one that has given up. And I don't care how afraid you are of me dying, you are just going to have to realize that _I_ am just as afraid of _you_ dying!"

"Sam. I know you don't want me to die. You've made that pretty clear, but _you_ are missing _my_ point. _You_ can live a life. I can't. And with you dead, I don't want to."

Sam sighed. This was going nowhere. Again. They were never gonna see eye to eye on this. Maybe he would just have to accept that he was going to have to stay in Dean's head forever.

"Dean..." He heaved a weary sigh: "...Fuck you!"

Surprise, mixed with the oldfashioned anger at being told off by anyone other than his father, registered on Dean's face.

"Excuse me now?"

"Fuck you!"

Dean raised one eyebrow and one corner of his lips curled up into a mocking smile. The softness of the one before missing this time around.

"Well, at least you're not having a tantrum."

"Shut up, Dean, and listen to me. For once in your life, actually hear what I have to say; I am not leaving. Okay? Ever. Even if I would eventually settle down or go back to school or whatever, I still wouldn't leave. I wouldn't just take off. Not anymore. You will always be in my life, Dean. Always. You're my brother. And I'm going to save you. And I'm gonna do that without dying myself and we're gonna live. Both of us. I don't care if you ever settle down. I don't care what it is you're gonna do with your life, as long as you're living."

"Sammy..."

"No. I am not going to give you the chance to "Sammy" me. I am not going to let you tell me that that's not the issue, because it might not be the only issue but I know that it is one. You don't have to be afraid of not being a part of my life, just like I shouldn't have to be afraid of you not being a part of mine. We may not have been this close if it hadn't been for Jess dying, we may not have been a part of each others lives, had I still been in school. But I don't care how it might have been. I care about the way it _is_. And the way it is, is I refuse to live my life without my brother in it. So hear me when I'm saying this: I am not leaving and I'm not dying. And neither are you."

He took a deep breath, having run out of it pretty much in the middle of his rant, and looked his brother in the eye.

"Okay?"

"Sam..."

He was _not _going to cave.

"Okay?"

Apparently neither was Dean.

"Sam. No. I hear you, okay? I do. But this isn't a matter of choice for me. I made a deal and that deal was pretty clear on the me dying part. I can't get out of that and I can't let you get me out of it because then _you_ will die. And that is not an option."

God, he was tired.

"And you dying is? Goddamnit Dean. I am not asking you to just reneg and let me die because I know that'll never happen. I am asking you to just not give up yet. To not act like a dead man walking. I want my brother back, Dean. I _need_ him back because..."

"Because what?"

"Because I can't do this without him."

Sam knew that maybe it wasn't fear to play on Dean's instinct to help and protect his little brother. To always be there for him. He also knew, however, that it may be the only thing that would work. To get Dean out of this. out of his own head and out of this...this...state of acceptance. This willingness to walk straight into the battlefield and lay down his life. He hoped that his doubts weren't showing on his face in any way because he refused to look away, willing Dean to see the hurt and the fear that he'd been collecting over the past few weeks, months even. He kept staring unflinchingly into his brother's eyes and the longer he stared, the more he looked he saw the truth sink into Dean. He saw the fear of his doomed path, the anger at the unfairness, but also the love that was and had always been his motivation. Knowing that, as always, his brother would let him win, he added:

"Dean, I know that you think it's your job to take care of me, to protect me. I've always known that, I counted on it even. But it's my turn now. We're brothers Dean, _brothers_. That means that we take care of each other. It goes both ways."

"I know that Sam, but if I let you do this, you'll die. I can't do that again."

There was a moment of anguished silence and for one fraction of a second, Sam thought he saw the glistening of tears.

"I have nothing left to give now."

Sam genuinly wondered how much of him was going to be left when they were done here. How much of his heart was gonna be _un_broken, and whether or not it would ever heal.

"Dean, I know, I know but you won't have to. I'll be careful, and so will Bobby. And I can promise not to tell you about it, so you wouldn't even be letting me, I'd be doing it behind your back. I only want you to stop walking around as if you're already dead. And stop eating cheeseburgers for breakfast, or you _will _die in a year, from clogged arteries."

The small smile that pulled at Dean's lips was his final acknowledgement. His big brother would, as always, give him what he wanted and he couldn't help but wonder even more where, along the road, his brother had gotten so broken. And why he had never noticed. It was like every fracture in Dean's heart, every missing piece had been laid out in front of him and he had no idea how to put them back together. And whether there would ever be enough time. He looked at the smile on his brother's face again and he felt the relief fight off the guilt, and win. Would he ever be ashamed enough to put his brother first?

"Alright, Sam. alright."

"Yeah?" He couldn't stop the grin that fought its way to his face. And he felt the shame that would now forever come with it.

"Yeah, alright, I'll try, okay? I'll try." A hesitant smile to match Sam's broad grin.

"Anything to shut you up. But you can't expect me to stop worrying about you, to stop wanting to protect you 'cause that's never going to happen. Ever. Even if we live to 180."

The grin was getting broader still. It made Dean's smile falter.

"I know. I'm not asking you to stop worrying about me. I'm asking you to just worry a bit more about yourself. And to let _me_ worry about _you_ too."

Dean looked at him then with that expression he always wore when he knew he was about to let Sam win because he couldn't bare to not let him win. He forced every dark emotion into the back of his mind. "First things first", his father used to say. And saving Dean came first.

"Okay then Sammy. You win, kiddo."

And with that, the nightmares ended.

* * *

**As always: Thank you for spending some time with my story. I would be grateful if you took a moment extra to review. I, like every author, treasure reviews and really value your opinion.**


	5. Chapter 5

**But the fear and the fire and the guns remain.**

**Author's note:** This is the last chapter. I have been contemplating writing one more. Please let me know how you feel about that.

* * *

_He built a wall of steel and flame._

_And men with guns, to keep it tame._

_Then, standing back, he made it plain._

_That the nightmare would never rise again._

_But the fear and the fire and the guns remain._

_(Josh Groban with Ladysmith Black Mambazo and Vusi Mahlasela – Weeping.)_

Chapter 5.

This time when he opened his eyes he didn't need time to realize where he was. He was up and by Dean's side in the spur of a second and he watched as Dean, slowly and grumbling, fought his way to consciousness.

"Dean?"

"Yeah, yeah. Gimme a moment, Sam."

Sam knew immediately and without a doubt that the openhearted Dean he'd spoken to not a minute ago was gone. He could only hope that Dean would remember what he'd promised and that he'd stick to it.

"You're thinking too loud, kiddo."

Sam looked down, into the halfworried, halfamused, eyes of his brother and tried to suppress a smile when Dean spoke, his tone gruff. Maybe he wasn't completely gone.

"I'm good, Sam. I know what I said during that incredible chickflick moment we just had."

This time, he didn't fight against the pull of his lips.

"It was your head, dude."

"Ugh, Don't remind me."

Dean sat up slowly, flinching at what must have been unbelievably sore muscles.

"Alright, well...If I'm gonna live forever, I'm gonna need some food. Real food, not any of that green stuff you're so fond of. And beer, you know, to celebrate the occasion."

"And what occasion would that be exactly?"

Both boys seemed to have forgotten for a minute that Bobby had been there the entire time.

"The occasion of Sam convincing me I got a couple more years on my Ball Book."

Both Sam and Bobby rolled their eyes at that.

"Ah. Well...you know I got the beer part down, I'll go see what I can do about that food you were talking about."

And with those words, Bobby left the room and headed for the kitchen, where he could be heard rummaging through cupboards a moment later.

Sam looked at Dean again who was now sitting on the couch in some sort of sprawl that didn't look particularly comfortable.

"You okay?"

For a second, Sam was sure his brother would fall back into his rhythm of evading jokes, but something flashed in Dean's eyes and when he spoke there was no sarcasm detectable in his voice.

"Yeah. Feel like I've been thrown into a wall and run over by a truck but I guess that's to be expected."

At Sam's doubtful look, he added:

"I'm fine, Sam. Save the worrying for later."

"Yeah, alright. Look Dean, about Louisiana..."

His brother waved his hand in a dismissive gesture.

"Save it, Sam. I get why you did it."

"Yeah but,..."

At Sam's protest, at his unwillingness to just let it go, to get away with it, he paused his movements and looked Sam in the eye. There was no grudge there, no anger, no accusation.

"Sam, really. Save it. We're good, I swear. Just don't take off like that again."

"Deal."

He'd said it without thinking and for the first time in weeks, he didn't shudder at the word.

* * *

They were back on the road, the highway that had been their home stretching endlessly ahead of them. For once, the destination not being the point of their journey. Sam relaxed his legs as best as he could and glanced sideways at his brother. Dean had been as patient and cooperative as he could for the past few days but handing the keys of his beloved car over to Sam, was something to be scoffed at. It had taken Dean 4 days to get back to himself. According to Sam, that was because the older brother had been up and about and ready to bounce after barely 48 hours. Bobby had proven himself to be more patient than either of the boys had ever thought him to be. The older hunter had let them clean his fridge and hog his couch without uttering a word. The three of them had been slowly looking for a new hunt, in between beers, steaks and fixing up the Impala, even though, according to Dean, his baby didn't need fixing up. Sam had known though that Dean's patience with his hovering and mothering wouldn't last much longer and that they needed to get themselves back on the road, which was why they had left Bobby's early that morning, with a promise to the older man that they'd check in more often. 

He tried again to get a bit more comfortable in the cramped seat and glanced sideways at his brother, who was quietly tapping the wheel to the rhythm of Led Zeppelin's 'Dy'er Maker'. He found that, ever since leaving the confinement of Dean's mind, his brother had been...easier, more open and almost (dare he say it?), a bit softer than he'd ever been before. It wasn't that the older Winchester was suddenly bearing heart and soul to Sam but he was less gruff, less evasive and, most of all, less closed off. It was a part of his brother Sam remembered from their childhood, when their family had been as peaceful as they had ever been and Sam hadn't yet vocalized his desperate wish to leave. Back when Dean still thought he could keep their family together. Back when Dean had still had hope.

"Hey Sam?"

Dean's low voice echoed through the car, slowing down, but never halting, Sam's train of thought.

"Yeah?"

"Why did you go to Louisiana?"

The younger brother frowned. He really didn't want another one of those conversations. Even he was done talking for now.

"Dean..."

"No, I mean, what did you go to do there, what exactly were you after? Back in Nebraska you told me Tamara had given you a name."

Sam's shoulders sagged in relief, He'd had expected Dean to ask about that much sooner.

"Yeah. Tamara told me that there was a woman who could maybe help, so I called her from the road after I left. Couldn't reach her though, so I just drove to Louisiana and when I got there I tried again. She gave me an address and I went after it. I had to try, right?"

"And?"

"What, and?"

"Oh, come on, Sam."

"Dean, you're the one who said that you couldn't let me do anything to save you. Don't you think it'd be safer to just not talk about it, unless it's absolutely necessary?"

The older man shrugged.

"Maybe. I just want to know nothing happened."

"To me, you mean? No, Dean. Nothing happened. But...I don't know if this counts so I'll keep it minimal, but...she may have helped me. At least a little. She pointed me in certain directions."

Sam saw the tension building in his brother's eyes and body and immediately regretted his words.

"Sam."

Swearing to himself that he wasn't gonna let Dean in on anything that he might find or do, he spoke.

"Nope. We're not doing this. I am going to shut up about this and you are gonna drive and let me do my thing. That's what we agreed on."

He saw Dean relax his shoulders a bit and let his own head rest against the seat.

"Bitch."

He responded without missing a beat.

"Jerk."

And this time when they smiled, there was nothing left unsaid.

_I'll be damned_ _if I can find a reason to explain_

_Why the fear and the fire and the guns remain._

The End (for now).

* * *

I just heard the news about Heath Ledger. It broke out here about an hour ago and I've been on the phone with my cousin, while frantically searching the internet with my roommate, for any sign that it may not be true. I realize I may be utterly pathetic but I don't really know how to respond to this. Whenever an actor, an artist (and I do believe him to be one), dies at such a young age in a rather tragic way, I feel unsure about how to feel. You don't know the person but they've been a small part of your life in a way. I was a teenager when '10 things...' came out and I've followed his career. He stole my breath in 'Monster's ball' and 'Brokeback Mountain'. I can honestly say, pathetic as it may be, that I am gonna need a couple of days to mourn him. Just for a bit. 

Why am I bothering you with this? Because I was writing this when I heard. I'm sorry.

Please be so kind as to leave a review.

Thank you.


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